Literary Love

by Gabrielle Vigot

  So moved by his plea for her attendance upon him she acquiesced.

  “I would extract a vow from you before we depart, Excellency.” The young lady announced before committing fully.

  “Name it, lady.” Franz said with a majestic bow.

  “I wish to return to my home with all my virtues intact.”

  At this topic Franz adopted a roguish demeanor.

  “How many virtues are currently intact lady that I might be tempting enough to alter?”

  She swatted at his arm, in play, before allowing him to lead her away.

  One evening, shortly thereafter, they cast off the painter of a sailboat from the iron ring that secured it to the dock at Leghorn, wrapped himself in his coat and lay down with his female friend, and said to the crew, — “To the Island of Elba!” The boat shot out of the harbor like a bird as the crew cleared the area where the two lovers resided. They shared warmth between them, body heat, on a chilled night. He had plain brown hair, shorn close to the head but still longer then was the fashion, and his skin was darkened from his adventures across the continent and the time he spent in Italy. His lady companion wore a red gown and her black hair caught in a net at the nape of her neck. Her eyes were the most clear and beautiful hazel, with gold flecks around the center. She was considered a great beauty in her village and taking up with a Baron would increase her social standing immensely. She also found him entertaining and seductive in his innocent pursuit of her.

  “My lady, how do you fare this night?”

  “I am a little chilled, Excellency, but otherwise in perfect health.”

  “You must call me Franz, I insist.”

  “Franz, then, you must call me Catherine.”

  He spoke her name in a whisper as he cupped her cheek. “Catherine.”

  “Have you travelled to Elba, Catherine?”

  “I have not, Exc — Franz, but it seems that is our destination.”

  She smiled seductively, her white teeth bright in the moonlight. “What if travelling to Elba is not my wish, Franz?”

  “Then tell me them and I shall endeavor to fulfill as many of your wishes as I am able.”

  The young lady smiled again and leaned in to whisper in his ear.

  Franz leaned back, pink infusing his cheeks in a warm blush. “My lady!” he exclaimed.

  Catherine giggled and Franz leaned down to whisper in her ear, his lips close to the lobe of her delicate ear.

  “Your wish is my command.”

  Franz delved a hand down to lift the lady’s skirt; he did so slowly, giving her time to stall him if she wished. Once he was under her skirt and petticoats he ran his fingers gently up her warm, smooth inner thigh. As Franz’s fingers crept higher, reaching the apex of her sex, Catherine released a sigh into the curve of his neck. More than anything else a woman’s pleasure served to heighten his own arousal; each breath and sound she emitted allowed his body to awaken and his manhood to harden. Her wish was simple yet erotic in its nature and Franz found himself anticipating the taste of her on his tongue.

  The young man disentangled his arms from behind the lady’s neck and replaced the hands under her skirts with his mouth. Her taste was like exquisite fine wine, and each whisper of arousal she pushed into the darkness layered on top of his own.

  “Mio dio.”

  Her native tongue reached his ears through the muffle of her voluminous costume. The lady clutched his hair in her dainty hands. When Franz lifted his head for air Catherine balanced on the precipice of climax. He would send her over in crashing ruin before drawing out any more of her secret desires.

  Regardless of their situation, he had promised before they set sail he would not penetrate her. Regardless of her lower social standing, she remained on the market for a husband and as much as Franz would have loved to breach her, his vow stood. Still, Franz planned to show her how many new ways she might experience pleasure in the more exotic of forms. The lady grew impatient at his musings, urging his continuation of his ministrations.

  “Apologies, lady, allow me to finish.”

  Franz lowered his head to her damp sex again, continuing to sweep his tongue through its fissure and then circle her pearl in small strokes. The lady began to whimper and clutch her knees about his ears. It was not unpleasant; her enthusiasm continued to add to his own arousal, his manhood as turgid as it had ever been before.

  Her sex began to clench around his tongue as she reached her climax in his mouth. When Franz had once again rearranged the lady’s skirts, he forgot, for the moment, his own completion, for the pleasure written in Catherine’s features was exquisite, her mouth pink from her own teeth biting down. She looked every bit the goddess of fertility, Aphrodite, sprawled on the deck of the ship, wanton and in need, a need he himself was in the power to assuage.

  Franz angled back up to support her head in the crook of his arm.

  “My lady, do you have any more wishes I might fulfill?”

  “Not a the moment, Exc — Franz. I only wish to enjoy this moment. The stars are shining bright and here at sea they are the most beautiful.”

  Ever the gentleman, Franz did not push the lady for more than her affections might allow at the moment. He simply held her in his arms and gazed at the night sky.

  “Do you wish to accompany me to Elba, lady, or might I return you to your village?”

  “I think, Excellency, I have tarried in fantasy long enough for one evening. I wish to return home and live my days out imagining the life I might have led as a Baroness.”

  Franz laughed out loud and hugged Catherine close.

  “My lady, were we born in a different time or place, I would gladly have a wife such as you.”

  “I am happy to know it, and I am happy to have spent an evening in a fairy world where rank and class mean nothing more than two souls.”

  “I’m glad to hear it, lady. I worried you might have found this adventure too invigorating and refuse to leave like a grieving widow across the body of her departed husband.”

  She swatted his arm then crossed herself. “Do not jest about such things.”

  Her words echoed in poetry and Franz realized he would be sad to part with her company, a most amusing distraction for the evening. Perhaps someday he might return to her village and persuade her to be his mistress. For now, he meant to walk in the giant’s footsteps and learn. His plans were simple: follow the giant, have some sport at the hunt on a nearby island, and then accompany Albert to Rome.

  The next morning Franz disembarked at Porto-Ferrajo. He traversed the island, having followed the traces that the footsteps of the giant had left, and re-embarked for Marciana. After two hours he again landed at Pianosa, where he was assured that red partridges abounded. The sport was bad; Franz only succeeded in killing a few partridges, and, like every unsuccessful sportsman, he returned to the boat very much out of temper. “Ah, if your excellency chose,” said the captain, “you might have capital sport.”

  “Where?”

  “Do you see that island?” continued the captain, pointing to a conical pile rising from the indigo sea.

  “Well, what is this island?”

  “The Island of Monte Cristo.”

  “But I have no permission to shoot over this island.”

  “Your excellency does not require a permit, for the island is uninhabited.”

  “Ah, indeed!” said the young man. “A desert island in the midst of the Mediterranean must be a curiosity.”

  “It is very natural; this island is a mass of rocks, and does not contain an acre of land capable of cultivation.”

  “To whom does this island belong?”

  “To Tuscany.”

  “What game shall I find there!”

  “Thousands of wild goats.”

  “Who live upon the stones, I suppose,” said Franz with an incredulous smile.

  “No, but by browsing the shrubs and trees that grow out of the crevices of the rocks.”

  “Where can I sleep?”

/>   “On shore in the grottos, or on board in your cloak; besides, if your excellency pleases, we can leave as soon as you like — we can sail as well by night as by day, and if the wind drops we can use our oars.”

  As Franz had sufficient time, and his apartments at Rome were not yet available, he accepted the proposition. Upon his answer in the affirmative, the sailors exchanged a few words together in a low tone.

  “Well,” asked he, “what now? Is there any difficulty in the way?”

  “No.” replied the captain, “but we must warn your excellency that the island is an infected port.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Monte Cristo although uninhabited, yet serves occasionally as a refuge for the smugglers and pirates who come from Corsica, Sardinia, and Africa, and if it becomes known that we have been there, we shall have to perform quarantine for six days on our return to Leghorn.”

  “The deuce! That puts a different face on the matter. Six days! Why, that’s as long as the Almighty took to make the world! Too long a wait — too long.”

  “But who will say your excellency has been to Monte Cristo?”

  “Oh, I shall not,” cried Franz.

  “Nor I, nor I,” chorused the sailors.

  “Then steer for Monte Cristo.”

  The captain gave his orders, the helm was put up, and the boat was soon sailing in the direction of the island. Franz waited until all was in order, and when the sail was filled, and the four sailors had taken their places — three forward, and one at the helm — he resumed the conversation. “Gaetano,” said he to the captain, “you tell me Monte Cristo serves as a refuge for pirates, who are, it seems to me, a very different kind of game from the goats.”

  “Yes, your excellency, and it is true.”

  “I knew there were smugglers, but I thought that since the capture of Algiers, and the destruction of the regency, pirates existed only in the romances of Cooper and Captain Marryat.”

  “Your excellency is mistaken; there are pirates, like the bandits who were believed to have been exterminated by Pope Leo XII., and who yet, every day, rob travelers at the gates of Rome. Has not your excellency heard that the French charge d’affaires was robbed six months ago within five hundred paces of Velletri?”

  “Oh, yes, I heard that.”

  “Well, then, if, like us, your excellency lived at Leghorn, you would hear, from time to time, that a little merchant vessel, or an English yacht that was expected at Bastia, at Porto-Ferrajo, or at Civita Vecchia, has not arrived; no one knows what has become of it, but, doubtless, it has struck on a rock and foundered. Now this rock it has met has been a long and narrow boat, manned by six or eight men, who have surprised and plundered it, some dark and stormy night, near some desert and gloomy island, as bandits plunder a carriage in the recesses of a forest.”

  “But,” asked Franz, who lay wrapped in his cloak at the bottom of the boat, “why do not those who have been plundered complain to the French, Sardinian, or Tuscan governments?”

  “Why?” said Gaetano with a smile.

  “Yes, why?”

  “Because, in the first place, they transfer from the vessel to their own boat whatever they think worth taking, then they bind the crew hand and foot, they attach to every one’s neck a four and twenty pound ball, a large hole is chopped in the vessel’s bottom, and then they leave her. At the end of ten minutes the vessel begins to roll heavily and settle down. First one gun’l goes under, then the other. Then they lift and sink again, and both go under at once. All at once there’s a noise like a cannon — that’s the air blowing up the deck. Soon the water rushes out of the scupper-holes like a whale spouting, the vessel gives a last groan, spins round and round, and disappears, forming a vast whirlpool in the ocean, and then all is over, so that in five minutes nothing but the eye of God can see the vessel where she lies at the bottom of the sea. Do you understand now,” said the captain, “why no complaints are made to the government, and why the vessel never reaches port?”

  It is probable that if Gaetano had related this previous to proposing the expedition, Franz would have hesitated, but now that they had started, he thought it would be cowardly to draw back. He was one of those men who do not rashly court danger, but if danger presents itself combat it with the most unalterable coolness. Calm and resolute, he treated any peril as he would an adversary in a duel, — calculated its probable method of approach; retreated, if at all, as a point of strategy and not from cowardice; was quick to see an opening for attack, and won victory at a single thrust. “Bah!” said he, “I have travelled through Sicily and Calabria — I have sailed two months in the Archipelago, and yet I never saw even the shadow of a bandit or a pirate.”

  “I did not tell your excellency this to deter you from your project,” replied Gaetano, “but you questioned me, and I have answered; that’s all.”

  “Yes, and your conversation is most interesting; and as I wish to enjoy it as long as possible, steer for Monte Cristo.”

  The wind blew strongly, the boat made six or seven knots an hour, and they were rapidly reaching the end of their voyage. As they drew near the island seemed to lift from the sea, and the air was so clear that they could already distinguish the rocks heaped on one another, like cannon balls in an arsenal, with green bushes and trees growing in the crevices. As for the sailors, although they appeared perfectly tranquil yet it was evident that they were on the alert, and that they carefully watched the glassy surface over which they were sailing, and on which a few fishing-boats, with their white sails, were alone visible. They were within fifteen miles of Monte Cristo when the sun began to set behind Corsica, whose mountains appeared against the sky, showing their rugged peaks in bold relief; this mass of rock, like the giant Adamastor, rose dead ahead, a formidable barrier, and intercepting the light that gilded its massive peaks so that the voyagers were in shadow. Little by little the shadow rose higher and seemed to drive before it the last rays of the expiring day; at last the reflection rested on the summit of the mountain, where it paused an instant, like the fiery crest of a volcano, then gloom gradually covered the summit as it had covered the base, and the island now only appeared to be a gray mountain that grew continually darker; half an hour after, the night was quite dark.

  Fortunately, the mariners were used to these latitudes, and knew every rock in the Tuscan Archipelago; for in the midst of this obscurity Franz was not without uneasiness — Corsica had long since disappeared, and Monte Cristo itself was invisible; but the sailors seemed, like the lynx, to see in the dark, and the pilot who steered did not evince the slightest hesitation. An hour had passed since the sun had set, when Franz fancied he saw, at a quarter of a mile to the left, a dark mass, but he could not precisely make out what it was, and fearing to excite the mirth of the sailors by mistaking a floating cloud for land, he remained silent; suddenly a great light appeared on the strand; land might resemble a cloud, but the fire was not a meteor. “What is this light?” asked he.

  “Hush!” said the captain; “it is a fire.”

  “But you told me the island was uninhabited?”

  “I said there were no fixed habitations on it, but I said also that it served sometimes as a harbor for smugglers.”

  “And for pirates?”

  “And for pirates,” returned Gaetano, repeating Franz’s words. “It is for that reason I have given orders to pass the island, for, as you see, the fire is behind us.”

  “But this fire?” continued Franz. “It seems to me rather reassuring than otherwise; men who did not wish to be seen would not light a fire.”

  “Oh, that goes for nothing,” said Gaetano. “If you can guess the position of the island in the darkness, you will see that the fire cannot be seen from the side or from Pianosa, but only from the sea.”

  “You think, then, this fire indicates the presence of unpleasant neighbors?”

  “That is what we must find out,” returned Gaetano, fixing his eyes on this terrestrial star.

  “
How can you find out?”

  “You shall see.” Gaetano consulted with his companions, and after five minutes’ discussion a maneuver was executed which caused the vessel to tack about, they returned the way they had come, and in a few minutes the fire disappeared, hidden by an elevation of the land. The pilot again changed the course of the boat, which rapidly approached the island, and was soon within fifty paces of it. Gaetano lowered the sail, and the boat came to rest. All this was done in silence, and from the moment that their course was changed not a word was spoken.

  Gaetano, who had proposed the expedition, had taken all the responsibility on himself; the four sailors fixed their eyes on him, while they got out their oars and held themselves in readiness to row away, which, thanks to the darkness, would not be difficult. As for Franz, he examined his arms with the utmost coolness; he had two double-barreled guns and a rifle; he loaded them, looked at the priming, and waited quietly. During this time the captain had thrown off his vest and shirt, and secured his trousers round his waist; his feet were naked, so he had no shoes and stockings to take off; after these preparations he placed his finger on his lips, and lowering himself noiselessly into the sea, swam towards the shore with such precaution that it was impossible to hear the slightest sound; he could only be traced by the phosphorescent line in his wake. This track soon disappeared; it was evident that he had touched the shore. Everyone on board remained motionless for half an hour, when the same luminous track was again observed, and the swimmer was soon on board. “Well?” exclaimed Franz and the sailors in unison.